


Of Opium Dens & Faith

by skeletonsmama



Series: casings and coffins [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Gen, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonsmama/pseuds/skeletonsmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bossuet suffers a loss of faith. Grantaire helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Opium Dens & Faith

Bossuet loved his visits to the opium den.

There were a multitude of reasons for it, least of all the opium. He wasn't like the sickly addicts, waxy skin stretched tight over bones as they laid and smoked their pipes in silence. He was a recreational user at the most, social at the least.

For one, there was the dark-eyed beauty who handed him the little white pills and watched him with a sultry gaze as he inhaled the fumes from the pipe. Joly had first mentioned her as they indulged in a den around the upper-side of town, blushing fiercely when Bossuet had laughed and promised to head back to the industry quarter for their next visit.

For another, there were the weathered air and sea captains who frequented dens by the ports, breaking the uniform silence to regale tales of their youth, each only embellished by the high of the poppy seed. Those were a particular favourite of Bossuet's, stories of beasts slaughtered and lovers bedded, the grandeur of it all amplified in contrast with the cramped haziness of the drug den.

More oft than not he would come out painfully aware of how young he was, how young his friends were, most not past 24 years.

The thoughts manifested notably in the following weeks. They were certainly unaided by the growing unrest in the industrial quarter.

Bossuet said as much, voicing his worries to Grantaire over a glass of Ambrosia a week after his latest indulgence.

"I would never say a thing to Enjolras, but everything feels insignificant at times. Hear me out; what are automaton rights to those who spend a life in prison, a life in the air, at sea, anywhere away from the immediate grip of the law and the reality of it all?"

"Apparently everything, should you ask our darling leader."

"Hush, I've not finished yet. Waitress, another round please," he called out before continuing. "How insignificant will we be in a hundred years time? When the people are still fighting and nameless student protesters who were slaughtered after a rally turned riot gone wrong years ago mean nothing? What is our purpose in the scheme of things, with none of us left past thirty years, no one to pass on our stories?"

Grantaire was silent for some moments and Bossuet took the opportunity to skol his remaining Ambrosia. Anything to drown out the sound of his ragged breathing as blood pumped through his veins at double-speed with misplaced fury and desperation.

Then Grantaire was speaking again, taking Bossuet's face into his hands and locking their gazes.

"Bossuet. Lesgle, Lesgle Lesgle Lesgle, is the opium poisoning your spirit? Your smile has vanished off the face of the earth, need we put up posters? You're sounding far too much like me than is good for a person. This isn't like you, my friend, look past the bastards who are masters of falsified tales and listen to our dear leader in red for guidance, should it be required.

"Swallow your doubts in Ambrosia's falsified courage and ease off use of the poppy. Don't worry about losing the looks of your lovely lady," Grantaire gives him a conspiratorial wink, lowering his voice as he leans in. "I hear our our very own Jollly and her have an arrangement outside of regular hours. I'm positive he would be more than happy to pass on a message."

Grantaire dropped his hands and Bossuet pulled him in for a hug, three rounds of Ambrosia finally kicking in and letting his woes slide away.

"Thank you, Capital R. You are a good friend, even with your unfortunate bouts of cynicism. I suppose I should head off, hunt down our Joly."

Grantaire chuckles, face bright and flushed with the almost-gold glow of Ambrosia under his skin. "Fly, Eagle de Meaux, fly. I should be off myself, actually. I believe Enjolras required me at four today, and it's already quarter-to."

Bossuet thanked him again, and they parted ways, each set off on their respective tasks.


End file.
